


Opportunist

by ShittyDinner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Flug is a weenie, Mind Control, Stockholm Syndrome, dubcon, fun for the whole family, lol j/k, servitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShittyDinner/pseuds/ShittyDinner
Summary: The boss wanted Flug to invent a ray gun designed to gain the immediate devotion and servitude of whomever it's used on. It might work a little too well.





	Opportunist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarquessBrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarquessBrie/gifts).



> This work is a gift as part of an art trade. She asked for mind control and soft vore but also not to describe getting ripped apart and chewed. The result is something we wouldn't normally write but fun nonetheless. Enjoy. :)

Your vision is blurry when you come to. Alone in the laboratory. It’s dark; quiet; though you know you’re not alone. Living things stir in cages, tanks, vessels, at the sound of your joints popping when you stretch. A yawn escapes your mouth and your eyes wander to the clock on the wall. It’s almost three in the morning but you get up off the table and adjust your skirt.

 

You decide to make your way to the other side of the manor, searching for the one whom you followed here. It was cold when you met. You were alone. Scared. It might have been a trial run and you’re not quite sure what happened but in a flash of light you were blasted into a state of nonexistence.

 

No, that’s not quite true.

 

It didn’t matter how terrifying the man in the black hat was. You needed to follow. To serve.

 

Not him, of course, but the important one.

 

He’s pleading for an extension, begging for sleep.

 

“Dr. Flug,” the boss barks, chastising the poor thing, “I don’t care about your interim projects. Finish the edits by morning or I’ll give new meaning to the term _deadline_.”

 

In a squeal, Flug dashes out, shutting the door behind him, and coming face to face with you.

 

“Oh,” he gasps, startled.

 

“It’s you!” You excitedly take one of his hands into both of yours, practically bouncing in excitement.

 

“Y-yes? It’s me?”

 

“He almost got you!”

 

“Y-yeah?” Why does he sound so awkward? What happened? Shouldn’t he be happy to see you? He seemed happy to see you when you met.

 

When did you meet again? Earlier… today? No, yesterday? Days ago?

 

It’s all a blur.

 

“Do you need help? Can I help you at all?” you offer.

 

“Uhhm.” He’s looking more and more uncomfortable. “I don’t know if…” he mumbles the rest.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I-- um-- my current experiment seems to be working. I think it’ll be alright. I needed some sleep is all. I have to edit some footage but I suppose I can delegate to 5.0.5. He does a decent job.”

 

5.0.5.?

 

“I can help with your project if you need.”

 

“N-no, it’s fine, thank you.” He’s looking more and more uncomfortable. You should probably back off.

 

He leads you to the lab and sits you on a stool before grabbing a clipboard and beginning to jot down some notes.

 

“Do you have any idea where you are?” he asks.

 

“I’m here with you.”

 

“Do you have any idea _who_ you are?”

 

That’s a strange question. You can think of your friends, your family, your online and offline life, what you do on a daily basis… What kind of question is that? Of course you know who you are.

 

“Y-yeah?” You proceed to elaborate, vaguely noting some of the more important details.

 

“Alright.” He pauses for a moment, staring at you. “Do you know… who I am?”

 

“You’re,” pause for a moment, “Dr. Flug…” according to the man in the black hat, anyway. “And you run the lab,” you infer. It doesn’t matter who he is. He’s the one who shot you. He’s the one you need to follow.

 

“How did you get here?”

 

That’s a harder question.

 

_How did you… get here?_

 

“I’m not sure,” you admit. Did you follow him here? Were you abducted? You surely decided to want to follow him around.

 

“Alright,” he jots some more notes down.

 

“Can you please go to that tank over there and release the rock python?” He points with the pen in his hand, not taking his eyes off the clipboard.

 

You eye the industrial shelves. There’s only one tank containing an enormous snake. Surely Flug must have a reason for this request. He needs you to open it. Release the python.

 

The snake periscopes as you approach, eyeing you and smelling the air with its tongue as you unlatch the top and remove it. It looks hungry… and like it could kill you if it wanted. Surely you’re in no danger though.

 

You release it and the snake stops for a moment, smelling you with its tongue before it slithers off and out of the lab.

 

Flug takes some more notes as you return to the stool.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, looking up tentatively. “Are you aware that it could have killed you?”

 

“I trusted you.”

 

“Fair enough.” He’s scribbling frantically.

 

“What’re you taking notes on? Me?”

 

“Mhm. Can you spin around on that stool for me?”

 

You comply, enjoying this little game of his.

 

“The top buttons on your blouse, if you please.”

 

“Of course.” You undo the first three. A real treat. Does he want more? You’d be more than happy. Lucky you, getting asked to do something so personal so immediately. “More?”

 

Please.

 

He’s looking at you and you can’t really tell what he’s thinking since you can’t see his face under that bag.

 

 _Please_.

 

“Oh don’t look at me with those eyes,” he groans.

 

“Sorry! Not looking!” You look down, compliant. Fuck, what if asks you to do more? He seems to enjoy bossing you around and taking notes on how good you’re being. Whoops, you not so accidentally squish your boobs together as you position your hands on your lap.

 

Don’t squirm.

 

Squeeze your legs together.

 

Ignore it.

 

You can’t help it, you look back up at him.

 

He seems to be making a checklist on that paper of his.

 

“Would you bolt that door, please?”

 

You look toward the entrance to the lab. Of course. Wow, you’re so lucky. Privacy. Don’t squeal. _Don’t run, you idiot_. Okay. Take your time.

 

You return to your stool, compliant. Will he reward you?

 

Please.

 

“You’ll do what I ask of you then?” he asks, tentative.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Anything,” he squeaks, laughing awkwardly, seeming to be in disbelief of your answer.

 

“It works, you know,” he mentions.

 

“What works?”

 

“I shot you. I shot you with a ray gun. I have no idea who you are. You’re the first person I saw alone. You don’t know me. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know what I’ll ask you to do but you’ll comply?”

 

Why would he even ask that? He’s the only person who can free you if he so chooses. He’s cute. Probably. Under the mask. You don’t know. Who cares? He’s the one who brought you here. He’s the one in charge of you. You can’t place why but you need to make sure he’s alright. If he’s alright, you’ll be alright.

 

“Of course!”

 

He returns to the workbench where he takes a few more frantic notes and then turns around, leaving the clipboard.

 

The low light in the lab’s producing a glare on the surface of his goggles.

 

“You’re being controlled, you know.”

 

He literally just explained that. Why does he have to reiterate?

 

“You just told me you shot me with a ray gun,” you confirm.

 

“And, knowing that, you’ll undo the rest of those buttons?”

 

You immediately comply, slipping out of your blouse and letting it fall to the ground. What part of you wanting to do your best for him did he not understand?

 

He breathes slowly.

 

“I’m not a good person, you know.”

 

 _Please_.

 

“I want you to tell me how you feel,” he’s buttoning his lab coat.

 

“I’ll do anything.”

 

“How do you _feel_ though?”

 

“I want you to be happy. I’ll be happy knowing you’re happy. Deep down, I’m probably mad that I was shot but I can’t feel that.”

 

“And?”

 

“I’m wet,” you admit, bringing a hand up to your breast, “thinking about what kind of things you’ll ask me to do.”

 

He approaches you.

 

“Show me.”

 

 _Please_.

 

You immediately lift your skirt allowing him to see the darkened spot on your underwear. The scent of your arousal fills the air and you can see some red patches appearing on his neck. Goodness, is he getting flustered by just that?

  

“Please,” you beg.

 

He croaks as you grab a lapel, and push the bottom half of his bag up to steal a kiss. He’s terrible. Clumsy. You don’t even care.

 

He’s pulling his gloves off behind your back.

 

A hand slides up your skirt and exploratory fingers make their way into your underwear and eventually into you. He pulls them out, marvelling as he breaks the kiss.

 

“Lick it clean,” he instructs.

 

You take his fingers into your mouth, running your tongue over them, sucking, cleaning.

 

He hasn’t bothered to fix the lower half of his mask and you can see that his mouth is stuck in an expression of awe.

 

“Do that again.”

 

“Again, where?” you ask, unbuttoning his lab coat and reaching for his jeans.

 

“Again, where you please,” he groans.

 

You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping short as you look up for reassurance.

 

“Wherever I please?”

 

You can feel his arousal twitching through the fabric.

 

“Mhm.” He’s moved his hands to grip the band on your bra, slowly sliding forward to pay some attention to your breasts. He's given up trying to unclasp it and just slides it down to reveal them, still marvelling.

 

You undo his jeans and slide them down with his boxer shorts, not particularly attentive as you’re trying to see through the tinted lenses of his goggles.

 

You lower yourself.

 

You get to take him in. _You_ , of all the people he could have shot with that ray gun, get to be the person who’s on your knees in the lab with Flug.

 

You grip him and run your tongue up from the base before slowly running it over the tip, tasting the anticipation dripping from him. He groans, gripping a handful of your hair.

 

You look up as you bob a couple of times, doing your best to communicate your allegiance, your compliance, your commitment. Fuck the world; this is the world. This is where you live now. This is whom you serve now. A hot pang of arousal shoots up your core and you moan as you work.

 

 _Serve_.

 

That's a good word.

 

You like it.

 

_At your service._

 

You've never felt like this toward anyone or anything. The desperate desire to prove yourself, your compliance, your servitude. Affection, devotion. What is this feeling? It isn't love. You can't call this love.

 

Though it might be easier to call it that.

 

You remove one of your hands from him to begin pleasuring yourself as you continue, taking in the sounds of him trying to suppress his own keening as he trembles. Why won’t he be openly vocal? The whimpers suit him and they soon turn to heavy gasps.

 

He fails to suppress a moan as he finishes. You don’t break eye contact as you milk him of everything he has, hoping that he thinks you’ve done well.

 

“You’ve been so compliant,” he purrs, petting the top of your head to hide how flustered he is. There's no way to hide that breathing. 

 

“Thank you!” A genuine compliment. You’ve done so well. The butterflies manifesting themselves are better than a fucking orgasm anyway. _You’ve done so well._

 

"Shame." He sounds heartbroken. "I'll need you to strip, please." He's still trying to catch his breath. 

 

You slide out of your skirt, and shed your underwear, your socks, your shoes.

 

"What's a shame?"

 

"I-I came far too early. My apologies. I'm going to tie you up here, alright?” Oh, he’s cute when he’s embarrassed. He’ll definitely get you back. He’ll need a bit of time and then maybe you can actually fuck.

 

“Okay. What’s the plan then?”

 

“The real plan?”

 

“Long-term.” Maybe sounding cheery will make him chin up.

 

“Testfire was a success,” he begins, picking his gloves up off the floor. 

 

“Good!”

 

“Black Hat has been eyeing someone’s particularly destructive minion. He’s going to go for her the way I went for you.” A satisfying  _snap_ fills the lab as he puts one glove on.

 

“So I’ve been useful in your experiment.”

 

“Mmm. Quite." The  _snap_ of the second glove echoes through the lab. "I should come up with a name for this little toy of mine...” he ponders. "I've hypothesized that the results will vary depending on the mental and emotional state of the targets. I'll need a few more rounds before handing the ray gun to the boss."

 

He finishes latching you to the slab and steps back, eyeing you silently as you lie naked.

 

"Do you love me?" he asks, offhand.

 

"Of course!"

 

"Ugh, don't say that," he gripes, stepping further back and leaving you tied to the slab.

 

“Why not?! I do!” Why would he ask you then? What the hell was that reaction? 

 

Flug exits the lab and you wait in silence.

 

A deep flush of worry overcomes you as you wait. Were you inadequate? Are you not sufficient? Will he dispose of you? Is he going to torture you? Are you going to die?

 

Eventual footsteps approach but the gait sounds different.

 

The man in the black hat peers in.

 

“The doctor says you’ve been compliant,” he notes. Something about his very presence in the lab sends chills down your spine, causing the temperature to drop and the hairs on your body to prickle. You suddenly feel very unsafe tied to this table.

 

“Y-yeah. I have. I’ve been very good!”

 

He makes a gagging noise at the word “good” in his approach. His mere presence triggers your flight reaction, making you writhe slightly in your binding. His face is uncanny, his movement, freakish, his breathing, unnatural.

 

“He’s come to get me for dinner.”

 

A few hours before sunrise and he calls this dinner?

 

“I-I see.” A cold sweat is forming on your brow as your breathing becomes irregular with his approach.

 

"Wh-what's on the menu? Me?" You're not sure if you're trembling due to the sweat your body's drenched in or the mere presence of this demon.

 

"Not a complete idiot, I suppose," he muses. "Do relax, tension makes for chewy muscles."

 

"Don't you think you can use me? I'm useful-- compliant," you bargain.

 

"You? By the smell of this place you're beyond any kind of salvation. Vile. I'm not even sure if I have an appetite after smelling the air in this place. It reeks of copulation."

 

"We didn't a-actually get to--"

 

"Silence."

 

You hold your breath as he paces back and forth, eyeing you.

 

"Disgusting opportunist, isn't he? Look at what he's done to my dinner. Wouldn't get any otherwise, being Flug and all. I suppose I should commend his resourcefulness. I'd never say it to his face, of course. You have to keep them deflated or they'll get cocky." He's taking his gloves off.

 

Silence.

 

He really is going to eat you, isn't he?

 

"A-are you sure you want to eat me?"

 

"Of course not, you smell violated. I suppose a meal's a meal. Stop talking before I further lose my appetite."

 

"D-don't you care that we'd make an excellent team if I'm so loyal?"

 

"Not particularly,” he dismisses. “I'd rather less repulsive staff."

 

You glance toward the lab door, desperately hoping that Flug will come and convince him to back off. Somehow.

 

Nobody's there.

 

“Do you not understand that you were a trial run? A test subject? A lab rat?”

 

"I get it. I was just hoping that I could--"

 

"Stop talking. Your hopeful tone's gone and further crushed my appetite." He's looking at you with utter contempt, lip curled in disgust. "You're insignificant. You're going to die alone in this room and nobody will miss you, not even Flug." His scowl turns into a sneer as you shrink under his approach. He runs a single claw up your stomach area and delights in your trembling.

 

"Go on, cry or something."

 

"C-can we talk about this?"

 

"We have been talking," he laughs. "Are you scared?" Ugh, the relish in his voice. He needn't pose the question. It's merely a formality. He can smell fear. "How does it feel to be trash, used and tossed aside?"

 

He's sneering at the look on your face but surely Flug will come back.

 

"He'll come back."

 

He laughs in earnest, a cold terrifying cackle that chills you to the bone as he plays with you, watching your breathing increase due to his mere presence.

 

"I'm not sure if I like this new toy of Flug's."

 

"You should!"

 

"And you have the audacity to tell me what I should and should not do," he scoffs at your impudence. “Why should I keep you alive?”

 

“I love hi--”

 


End file.
